


i definitely love one

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Humor, Husbands, Light Angst, Look there’s no universe where these two husbands would end up effing other people, M/M, Not on my watch, a few nods to S11E7 related to plot minus the shenanigans, communication in various forms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Ian wants to talk about relationship stuff with Mickey. After a blast from their recent past, he has an opening.Set around S11E7 but with more of an S10 vibe.
Relationships: Cole (Shameless)/Byron Koch, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	i definitely love one

Tensions in the Gallagher house were at an all-time high. A war over selling the house, waged by Lip versus Debbie (aka, mini-Fiona, in this instance), had broken out. Because Ian had thrown Debbie a bone and backed her position on not selling, she’d told him and Mickey about a new gay bar in the neighborhood where they could get free drinks if they mentioned her name.

“Ask for Calista. Tell her Debbie sent you.”

The prospect of avoiding Gallagher drama plus free drinks was more than enough to propel both men to agree on an outing—they’d grab dinner and then drinks. Ian considered it to be a date of sorts, which was a nice change of pace since he and Mickey had been working their asses off lately and dealing with Terry’s illness, on top of everything else. 

It seemed like Mickey was thinking along those lines as well. After returning home from work, they both showered and changed into clothes that were definitely more dressy than their usual ripped t-shirts and sweatpants. Ian wasn’t going to lie—seeing the bit of effort his husband exerted for their “date” made his heart beat a little faster.

They went to a Columbian joint, munched on chips and guacamole, enjoyed some _arepas_ , and then strolled over to the bar, holding hands as they walked in comfortable silence. Dinner conversation was minimal and had mostly consisted of him and Mickey discussing the overall Gallagher dynamics related to the house. 

On Ian’s mind now was something else entirely. He wanted to know from Mickey’s point of view—because of course he did, recently plagued with a feeling that things were going _too_ _well_ —how his husband was feeling about their relationship, given all of the chaos surrounding them. The guy sure seemed content, having blended seamlessly into the Gallagher fray. But what about the fact that they spent nearly all their waking hours together? 

And there was also the matter of their unresolved conversation from a few weeks ago around monogamy and marital expectations and how the two of them were going to play things. After all, it was Ian who’d casted a “vote” for monogamy and Mickey who’d refused to say what he’d written down. Fucker had gotten rid of the piece of paper, too—Ian had searched all of his pockets. 

It was fairly obvious what Mickey had written down, since he’d been so adamant about not revealing his answer, but Ian wanted to know more about the _why_. Every time he tried to bring it up, Mickey would side-step the topic. Maybe he could work it into their conversation over drinks.

They arrived at the address Debbie provided. The place wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but there was music pumping, and definitely a decent crowd that would make Kev openly weep. Ian spotted a neon sign through the window that read “Here, Kitty, Kitty,” and Mickey must have noticed it, too.

“Clever,” he snarked before quirking his left eyebrow at Ian. “A gay bar, huh? Just lesbians, or uh, is this a hunting expedition for you and me?”

“W-what?” Ian stammered, caught off guard for a second before realizing that Mickey was alluding to the very topic that had just been on his mind. He recovered quickly. “Not a hunting expedition,” he huffed. “Free drinks. Remember?” Ian pulled open the door with more force than he intended, which had more give than he’d expected. He fell back into Mickey and grunted, miffed about the joke he’d just made.

“Whoa, easy Tiger,” Mickey chuckled.

“C’mon,” Ian sighed, putting on his mask and deciding not to put a damper on their evening. Mickey probably didn’t mean any harm. “Let’s go find Calista.”

He headed towards the bar, moving at a slow enough pace to make sure he didn’t lose Mickey in the crowd. The place was packed to the brim with a decent mix of clientele, mostly lesbians, best Ian could suss out, but a decent number of dudes and other assorted couples.

“No more COVID, huh?” Mickey shouted to him over the noise. “Nobody told me.”

 _Yeah_ , Ian thought to himself and nodded at Mickey’s remark. _Maybe this wasn’t the best idea—a bar full of unmasked idiots._

“Should we leave?” he yelled back.

“Nah! Let’s have at least one drink. Gonna scare off some hipsters and snag us a table. Back corner. Eleven o’clock. Get me a beer, will ya?”

“Sure.” Ian couldn’t help the wide grin that spread over his face. Ah, the perks of having a husband who could get them seating anywhere.

After Mickey left to complete his mission, Ian waved down one of the bartenders, a tallish woman with long dark hair and heavy eye make-up. “Hey. Is Calista here?”

The woman rolled her eyes and started to walk away but did him the courtesy of pointing to another one of the bartenders, a shorter woman with much shorter hair, bright eyes and a beautiful smile. Ian waved in her general direction and waited patiently as she finished making a drink for another patron.

“What can I do for you?” she asked as she neared him. 

“Hi there. My sister, Debbie, told me to stop by and check this place out.”

“Lesbian convict Debbie?”

“That’s the one. I’m here with my husband. He’s, uh...”

Ian glanced over by the corner table and noticed Mickey picking up a drink and shoving it into a disgruntled man’s hand while shooing him away from the table. Calista leaned over the bar to look in the same direction as Ian. He turned back to her. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Cool. By the way, you and Debbie...I see the family resemblance,” the young woman said, pointing to Ian’s hair. 

“Oh, right. Gingers,” he patted his head self-consciously, wondering if that was just about the only thing they had in common. Calista seemed warm and genuine, and Ian almost wanted to warn her about staying far, far away from Debbie and her drama as possible. 

“Drinks are on the house,” she told him. “What’s your poison?”

“Wow. Thanks. Couple of beers, whatever you’d recommend.” 

“Sure thing. Just give me a minute. We’re doing a private event in the side area.”

“Great. No problem.” Ian checked on Mickey again who was now seated at the high top table he’d claimed like a damn conqueror, arms crossed, just daring anyone to try to dethrone him. 

God, he loved that man. Loved him so damn much.

“Here you go,” Calista said and placed two pints of beer in front of him. 

“Thanks. Hold on,” Ian said, digging in his pocket for a ten dollar bill. He handed it to her before gripping the glasses and heading over to the table Mickey had so graciously confiscated for them. 

“So...what do you think of this place?” Ian asked. He didn’t have to yell as much since they were in closer proximity with their masks off.

“Think I’m thirsty for some free drinks.” Mickey picked up one of the beers and took a huge gulp. When he lowered the glass, Ian noticed the slightest hint of a foam mustache over Mickey’s upper lip. He was tempted to tell him to wipe it off, but Mickey looked too damn adorable.

Ian took a small sip of his beer. “Yeah, but what do you think about this place as a regular place for us to hang out. Maybe meet some new people? Make a friend or two?”

Mickey looked at him like he had three heads. “S’that what people usually do at a gay bar? Make _friends_?”

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Ian shrugged. He wondered if spending less time with each other might actually strengthen their relationship. But he didn’t want to be the only one meeting up with new people and leaving Mickey out. 

“So you’re back on that friends kick? I told ya that the chick from the grow house wants to hang out with us sometime, let us sample some new products.”

“Yeah, but she’d be more like a work friend, you know?”

“Huh, actually, I don’t. Too many rules with that _friend_ shit. Too much drama. Besides, I already got plenty of friends. There’s Carl. Liam. And I’m thinking about hanging out with Tami more, since you’re Lip’s #2. I can be Tami’s.”

“Ha, ha. Fuck you,” Ian said without any malice behind his tone. He would actually find it hilarious if Mickey and Tami started palling around; Lip would probably hate it. “And maybe I’ll go hang out with some of my new in-laws. What’s your cousin’s name? The one who’s always playing Russian roulette with his 45?”

“Yeah, no. Stay the fuck away from that loose cannon,” Mickey warned him and downed the rest of his beer. “You gonna finish that?”

“Geez, Mickey. Give a guy a minute.”

“Fine. How ‘bout you go get your date another beer?”

“Yeah, okay,” agreed Ian. He probably should have asked for three to begin with.

Calista looked even more slammed than the last time he’d been at the bar, so Ian asked one of the other bartenders for a beer and paid for the drink in cash. As he walked back over to the table, he noticed that Mickey was unabashedly staring across the room. His gaze seemed to be resting on a table near the front where two young men were engaged in a deep conversation. 

“Here you go,” Ian said, sitting back down, his curiosity getting the better of him. “See anything you like?”

Mickey picked up the beer and inhaled about half of it before answering. “Definitely the guy sitting in front of me.” He smirked at Ian and proceeded to polish off the rest of the beer. 

“Let’s get out of here then,” Ian replied with a wink.

“You’re easy. Gimme a sec. Gotta take a piss. Meet you outside.”

“Okay, but hurry. I’ve got plans for us.”

As Ian got closer to the door, he noticed a gradual quieting of conversation, and it sounded like someone was turning down the music. Several people moved towards what looked like a reserved area over to the right. Ian looked around to see what was going on, and towards the front of the sea of people who’d gathered, he noticed a familiar figure perched on the edge of a smaller bar, legs crossed and champagne glass raised in the air.

“Listen up, bitches! It’s time for the toast,” said the smooth as silk voice. “First, I want to thank the love of my life for making all of this possible.” The perfectly coiffed man held up his hand, and the shine of the diamond ring on his finger was almost blinding. 

“And of course, if it wasn’t for those South Side hoodrats, we wouldn’t be here tonight, celebrating with all of you! So cheers to _moi_. And cheers to the many adventures of the future Mr. and Mr. Koch.”

As the crowd raised their glasses, followed by various congratulatory cheers, hoops and hollers, Ian found himself mesmerized by the entire scene. No doubt about it, Cole definitely knew how to command a room. And he sure as hell could pull off some avant garde fashion choices, including [ his current look ](https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/los-angeles-usa-september-4-2018-1190870383)that consisted of a black corset over top of a trench coat.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since Ian had sought out a “plus one” for his desperate attempt to make Mickey jealous and win him back. Cole had been the only guy to contact him via Grindr with actual words and not a dick pick, so he’d been the chosen one to accompany Ian to the Imperial Mammoth concert where he and Mickey got engaged. That was after major chaos had ensued, Cole had ended up with a black eye, and Byron, the former “love of Mickey’s life” was left with a minor concussion.

Speak of the devil. It finally dawned on Ian that the waify redhead standing right next to Cole, apparently the object of his affection, and he was wearing an almost-as-bold [ensemble](https://borizjerseys.com/products/free-shipping-new-fashion-casual-mens-personality-male-korean-long-sleeved-shirt-black-embroidery-flower-shirt-2033-fanzhuan) as his betrothed but was not pulling it off as well.

 _That little twerp. Well, fuck me_ , thought Ian. _Guess everything worked out for them, too._

It wasn’t long before Mickey had come out of the restroom and found Ian. He nudged his arm. “The fuck, Gallagher? Thought you wanted to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I do. But look who’s celebrating their engagement.”

“What the—”

“Okay, hold up now,” Cole shushed everyone. “Some of you haven’t heard about how Byron and I met. Before he locked this down.” Byron was now gazing up at Cole adoringly, squeezing his knee, and making a general spectacle of himself. Though Ian didn’t harbor any ill will towards the twink, he wasn’t exactly a fan, given that he was technically Mickey’s ex.

“We were on a double date. But not with each other. And I don’t know which of our two dates was more _hood_ , but I’m pretty sure my Byron got the short end of the stick. His guy moved in after their first date. We think maybe he was homeless,” Cole’s voice went a whole octave higher as he giggled with the crowd and rested his finely manicured hand on Byron’s shoulder.

Ian’s mouth was hanging open in disbelief. He glanced over at Mickey who had yet to say anything, but Ian, using his spidey sense to predict Mickey’s reaction and in an effort to save the beguiled newly engaged duo, grabbed a hold of his arm to stop Mickey from advancing forward. 

“Let go of me,” his husband snarled, like a feral cat with his hackles up. “I’ll show those motherfuckers what it means to be _hood_.”

“Mickey. Stop!”

“Did you hear what he said?”

Ian still had a sturdy grip but that didn’t deter Mickey from propelling forward and knocking a nearby chair onto the floor. “Let it go,” he urged Mickey through gritted teeth as more and more people took notice of the disturbance, including the grooms-to-be.

“What’s all the fuss about? Oh, bartender! Bartender! There be riff-raff in the house. Get ‘em out!” Cole yelled out before turning back to the crowd. “I guess that’s the gamble with throwing an engagement party on the South Side.”

In between trying to shuffle Mickey towards the door and excusing his husband’s behavior with polite smiles to the on-lookers, Ian made brief eye contact with Byron, who looked absolutely mortified. He also appeared to be contemplating hopping over the counter of the bar to go into hiding. Ian let go of Mickey’s arm long enough to wave at Byron. He thought about yelling out something like, “I pissed in your gas tank,” but instead, made one final attempt to haul his husband away; he was successful.

They were outside of the bar now, the fresh air a welcome relief. Mickey was trying to remove Ian’s hands from his arms, while he let out a series of foul expletives, none of them very complimentary of the “Simone Biles loving, alcoholic queen” nor “the gay leprechaun with the weakest gag reflex known to man.”

Ian didn’t want to dwell on that mental picture for too long; he was more concerned with getting Mickey onto the nearest L, should he try to double back and “beat a bitch,” like he kept threatening to do.

Once they were safely on the L platform, and the train was in sight, Ian released his grip. “Calm the fuck down, alright? Neither of those two are worth it.”

“Yeah, well. They need to stay the fuck out of the South Side,” snarled Mickey in the general direction from where they’d just been.

“Agree. But let’s get you home. We don’t need to think about it anymore.” Ian grabbed one of Mickey’s wrists and rubbed it firmly with his thumb. He’d seen Frank do it with Monica when she’d had morning sickness with Carl. Come to think of it, maybe the pressure points were to alleviate nausea.

Oh well, it seemed to be working. That, along with Ian repeating the phrase “use your words, not your fists,” like the therapist at Beckman had reiterated to both of them.

“Those fuckin’ pricks, talking shit about us? Us? And _they’re_ getting married? To each other? Oughta be thanking us instead of roasting us.”

“Well, that was the general sentiment,” Ian had to admit. “Just poorly executed. Besides, who gives a fuck? Did you even like that guy?”

“Who? Barry? Fuck no, just needed a break from your wishy-washy ass.”

“Touché,” Ian said quietly, not really hurt by the comment, but not wanting to fuel his husband’s flame by arguing about that time in their relationship.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence, Ian’s mind wandering back to those moments when Mickey had declared his “love” for Byron, multiple times. Back then, he had to put on a brave face, though it had almost eaten him up inside. Now, it seemed like a small blip on the radar compared to all the other crap they’d been through. Matter of fact, that entire Byron debacle had motivated Ian to action.

The house was now in sight, and Mickey seemed to have simmered down considerably.

“Mick?”

“What?”

“Can we just forget about them? I kinda want to finish our date on a positive note.”

“Yeah. As long as that positive note involves—”

“Oh, it will,” Ian smiled. “It will.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Ian figured he could have whisked them away to the dugouts. Or the bleachers. For old time’s sake. But their bedroom was way more comfortable, and they’d fucking earned a room of their own. Hopefully soon, they’d have an entire place of their own.

Ian had just given Mickey one of the most ambitious blow jobs of their entire marriage? Why? Why not?

His motivation came from two primary sources. One, Mickey’s earlier slight towards Byron and his gag reflex, and two, well, he wanted Mickey to be as relaxed as possible when he brought up the monogamy issue. Okay, three. Three sources. The last one was a given—he loved making his husband come.

Mickey was laying face down on their bed, completely spent and apparently completely unsuspecting of what Ian was about to bring up as he dropped soft kisses along the back of his neck.

“Feels good,” the brunet mumbled, one side of his face smushed into the pillow. “You got next,” Mickey promised, likely responding to Ian’s obvious arousal pressed into his leg.

“Mmmm, no rush,” Ian mouthed into the soft patch of skin just below Mickey’s neck. “Wanna ask you about something.”

Mickey let out a low moan and a slight chuckle. “No, you can’t eat me out again. Caught me in a weak moment this morning.”

“Not that,” Ian felt a wicked smile coming on, but it faded quickly. “S’bout our conversation from a few weeks ago. On the porch. About, you know, _us_? And other people. Fucking other people. Seeing your ex tonight, well, it made me realize a few things.”

“My ex,” scoffed Mickey. “Barry?”

“Yeah. As much as I don’t like thinking about you with other guys, I’m a big boy, and I wanna know what you wrote down on that piece of paper.”

“I see,” said Mickey, and Ian could sense his shoulders tensing up as he proceeded to massage them, keeping Mickey steady against the mattress.

“I meant what I wrote. I want it to be just us right now, but that’s because of all the time we lost...before.” Ian paused, his brain too tired to lay blame on who was responsible for shit that had kept them apart in the past. It was sort of this unspoken rule between them not to dwell too much on any of that. “But that’s me. And I’ve been thinking, lately, that I might have kept you from saying what you want, so...thought I’d try again.”

Mickey remained quiet, and Ian resigned himself to the possibility that the brunet still wasn’t ready to open up. Maybe another time. Ian adjusted his body so that he was laying on his side of the bed, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“What if…” Mickey began but stopped. He shifted his body so that he was resting on his side and turned towards Ian. “What if...one day, I, uh, wanted to, uh...Oh fuck it! Nevermind,” Mickey huffed in frustration and also looked up towards the ceiling.

Ian waited, part of him wanting to try to finish Mickey’s thought for him and part of him afraid of what he was getting at. Mickey remained silent, his expression tense and his hand curled into a fist at his side.

“Tell me,” Ian said softly as he wrapped his fingers around Mickey’s balled up fist. Slowly, slowly, after what seemed like an eternity, Mickey relaxed his fingers and let out a breath he’d been holding in.

“Don’t wanna hurt you. Just, sometimes I wonder, what it would be like, what _I_ would be like...with someone else.”

“Yeah?” Ian asked, his voice shaky, his heart sinking, even though he knew it wasn’t fair to expect Mickey not to wonder about those things.

“It’s only ever been you, where I _felt_ anything. Everyone else I ever fucked, ‘cause that’s what it was, right? That was out of boredom or anger. Or, just wanting to fuck.”

Ian could almost say the same thing. _Almost_. But the truth was, he’d been in a few more relationships than Mickey. It had never been the same thrill—he’d never _loved_ any of those guys—but Ian had been allowed, for most of his life, to express his sexuality without penalty. Mickey, not so much.

“Saw this couple at the bar earlier, probably about our age. And I’m not talking about Simone and Barry,” he added.

“Got it.”

“Anyway, who knows if those two guys were together, but they looked really fucking into each other. Reminded me of us, reminded me that I, uh, don’t wanna share you with anyone,” Mickey said shyly. “Know you don’t want that either. But what if one day, you know, could be me, could be you...one of us changes our mind?”

Ian lifted his free hand to Mickey’s chin and stroked his cheek, suddenly concerned that Mickey was not only asking for himself but out of fear that Ian wasn’t being forthcoming or that some time in the future, one of them wouldn’t be enough for the other.

“Hey,” he whispered against Mickey’s lips. “Whatever we want to do, or whatever one of us wants to do, we’ll talk about it, then we’ll make a decision together. But as for right right now, yeah. I have to be honest. I don’t think I can stand the thought of these lips on anyone else.” Ian leaned in to claim his husband’s soft lips, capturing his mouth in a slow, languid kiss.

He pulled away and opened his eyes, watching Mickey watch him, a spark behind blue eyes, a spark that had been there for a very long time. “Or these fingers. I don’t want them touching anyone else.” He guided Mickey’s now unclenched fist over to his semi-hard dick, letting his husband take it from there, moaning just loud enough for Mickey’s ears only, when he felt the warmth of loving fingers wrapped around him.

Ian reached behind Mickey to grab the lube. He squeezed out enough to coat his fingers and maneuver his arm underneath Mickey’s side, snaking his hand around to palm the smooth skin of his ass, and moving his fingers until he had two of them halfway inside of his husband.

“I don’t want anyone else to know this part of you,” said Ian in a low sultry voice. “You’re fucking mine. And I’m fucking yours.”

“That so?” Mickey responded in a raspy, needy voice. “You, uh, leaving any room for negotiation?”

“Would have to be a very convincing argument.” Ian punctuated his last statement by pushing a third finger inside of Mickey and curling his fingers just so, eliciting a soft whimper from his husband's lips. “How about for now, we just be...us?”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey grunted, pushing back against Ian’s fingers while maintaining a delicious pressure on Ian’s cock with every stroke of his hand.

“Y-you sure?” Ian asked, trying to hold on but finding himself on the brink of coming.

Mickey slowed his hand and guided Ian’s fingers out of him to rest on his side. “Yeah,” he growled, “You’re fuckin’ mine alright.” Rising up on his knees, Mickey proceeded to climb on top of Ian, spreading himself open as he lowered himself down onto Ian’s cock, both of them groaning simultaneously as their bodies came together like two pieces of a puzzle.

“And Mick?”

“Jesus,” he groaned. “Why you gotta talk right now? Kinda busy.”

Ian slid his fingers from Mickey’s nipple over to the tattoo above his heart, tracing the letters and wondering, randomly, if Byron, or any of the other guys Mickey had been with ever commented on it. He figured it would always serve as a constant reminder of how devoted Mickey was to him.

Ian dug his fingers into Mickey’s thighs, and bucked his hips upwards. “What? Was just gonna tell you to go faster, dick.”

Maybe they’d revisit this topic someday, but for the foreseeable future, they were strictly a party of two.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you J_Q for the meta and the beta. You’re the best!


End file.
